


Kintsugi

by writedeku



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AND COMING OUT OF ALL THIS ON TOP AND, BEING MY BOO, Fluff and Angst, Hurt and comfort, M/M, Post CACW, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, THIS IS TONY STARK, THIS ONE IS NOT SMALL PATHETIC TONY STARK, TRYING TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, also this is different, but present, first chapter is tony centric, no, not graphic, second is steve centric, self-harm tw, this is not sad tony stark waiting on steve's forgivenes, yes we get to see steve's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 00:25:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7076917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writedeku/pseuds/writedeku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Kintsugi (golden joinery)</i><br/><i>-defined as "to repair with gold", it is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. As a philosophy it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise- not allowing its service to end at the time of breakage when it could come back more beautiful than ever.</i><br/> </p><p>The cellphone still waited for him when he returned. It's still there, on his table, mocking him, laughing at him, relishing in the way he flinched from it. He picked up the phone and dashed it to the ground, stomping on it again and again until it was nothing again and Tony could breathe.</p><p>He opened a drawer and pulled out the bundle of photographs he'd taken from the mansion. He held it in his hands like a lifeline and said, "I'm going to prove to you I can be good," he put them in his pocket. "I will not fuck this up."</p><p>A little voice in his head told him that was all he did, but Tony boxed him away. He was in charge now. He was going to evolve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tony Stark

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sick of small, crying, broken Tony waiting on Cap's heels because he is oh, so shattered by his loss.  
> No.  
> Tony Stark is better than he thinks, stronger than he knows and tougher than he seems.  
> He is going to make a change. He is Tony Stark.  
> He rises from the ashes of his mistakes to build a better future.
> 
> Steve's POV in next chapter.

  
The phone sat accusingly on his desk. It stared at him and compelled him to pick it up, to beg for Steve to return. Tony looked at it with disdain.  
  
He fingered the lighter in his pocket, and opened up a drawer, pulling out a faded letter, crumpled with the many times it's been opened and closed again. He flicked on the lighter and pressed the letter to it and watched it go up in smoke. He held it until he couldn't anymore and then let it blow away, burning itself and turning to black.  
  
He hadn't let himself come here, not for a long time. He had moved immediately out of Avengers mansion and into another, smaller one, but after nearly dying of boredom- he'd decided, what the hell.  
  
There were still cups on the table, damnit. Sam's favourite was in the sink. Natasha had left her taser on the tabletop, Wanda's slippers were in the hallway and Cap had a stupid hat lying on the floor. Tony hated everything so much. He thought the gods were being kind when they gave him the Avengers, but he was wrong. The gods had been kind to be cruel, because now everything he ever wanted had fallen from his grasp like water and all he was left with was nothing.  
  
Tony found it hard to feel anything as he started to take down photos of them from the wall. Oh, look, there was the one from when they went Disneyland together, oh, haha- there's another from when they were eating at Shwarma's after the Battle of New York. A news article defending them, clipped up and framed meticulously- this had Steve written all over it. Tony grabbed every single one of them and lobbed them as hard as he could into the black trash bag he was carrying around, relishing in the smash of the glass against the floor.  
  
But just as soon as he'd finished with the hallway- he was digging though the glass and pulling out the pictures, getting cuts all over his fingers. Because no matter how hard he tried to deny the Avengers- they were once his, and he couldn't let them go. He dusted glass shards off a picture of him and Steve, smiling toothily at the camera, and felt something die inside of him.  
  
He pushed open the doors to the bedrooms next. Wanda's was the first. It still smelt of that perfume she liked. He tore the sheets from her bed and stuffed her clothes into bags, because she was never coming back, damnit, she was never coming back and all he'd wanted was to make sure she could stay with them.  
  
Ironic, isn't it? When all he'd wanted was for them to stay with him and all he'd gotten was nothing left. Oh, what a shame. What a shame everything he touched died.  
  
He boxed up her pillows and made a mental note to donate them, he folded up her quilt, pushed everything off the table. He didn't even scream. He just felt dead.  
  
The next was Sam's, Natasha's, and then it became routine until he stopped at Steve's room. From the door, whispers of Howard? Howard!  
  
Tony couldn't go in, so it's the only room left as is, with his sketchbook hanging off the table, his boots strewn on the floor, his window open.  
  
He punched the wooden door and found he didn't know what to say.

* * *

Oh, every part of him hurt. He held the phone in his hands and thought his world was over. And it was such a shame, because he had just started- just started having a family and he'd lost it, he'd lost it all.  
  
He was a mess of broken pieces and he could never be whole again.  
  
The whiskey bottle next to him clunked as he picked it up, but he downed a third of it and gagged. He picked up the phone and threw it against the wall.  
  
Steve was- he was the light and he was so good, and Howard had told him countless tales about him- and not as just as a big, brave superhero. He told him about the times Steve stole trucks to go off saving people, despite orders. And he told him about the time Steve saw a banana for the first time. Steve was good. Tony was a fool to think he'd ever be able to live up to him.  
  
Because he was a man with everything and nothing. He was a man with a phone full of people but no one to talk to. He was a man- was he even a man? Why did he exist? Why did he try and do anything when all it would bring him was death and ruin and bloo- the whiskey glass he'd had by his side smashed against the wall.  
  
He took a deep breath. He wanted to cry. God- he wanted to cry so much but he couldn't because he wasn't sad, or depressed- he was empty. He was nothing.  
  
He was small and desperate and sad, waiting for Steve to come back.  
  
He was pathetic.  
  
Tony thought it had all gone so well. He remembered the first time he actually made Natasha laugh. It was a terrible pun, he couldn't even remember what it was about. She had actually stopped kicking a man’s ass and laughed, and Tony had taken that laugh and wrapped it around his broken pieces and let it hold him together.  
  
He remembered when Steve had hugged him for the first time, after Tony had nearly died to protect a little boy with his hair in pigtails. Steve had said, “you ain’t half bad at this hero stuff, shellhead,” and then there was another string holding him together.  
  
Clint had clapped him on the back once and given him the last cup of coffee when he had finished an all nighter watching the streets for a runaway mutant. Thor told him that he was, for a Midgardian, on his way to being worthy, Bruce told him he kept him calm, and all these word were like ribbons that tied him together and made his shards look like a gift, topped with a pretty bow when Nick Fury actually asked him for advice on approaching a situation.  
  
But then, overnight, Ultron, and then someone had taken a scissors to his ribbons and now he was a man falling out of shape with broken strings at his feet. _I had strings, to hold me down, to make me fret and make me frown,_ Ultron had sung, taunted him in front of his face. _I had strings, but now I am free, there are no strings on me._ Tony wondered what made Ultron so different from himself. Tony would give anything to have his strings back, because now he was missing pieces of himself as they flaked off him like a scraped painting.  
  
And then now this. He was falling out of shape, a liquid with no container, he was collapsing and dying and he hated himself so much he couldn't contain it.  
  
He took knives to his hands to see how much he could withstand; he took stupid risks upgrading his suits that one day he landed himself in the emergency room with bone poking out of his chest. It healed. Tony did it again, and again, until one day he realised- he realised that this was not what he ever wanted to be.  
  
There were uniform lines on the sides of his arms and this was not what he ever wanted to become.  
  
The cellphone still waited for him when he returned. It's still there, on his table, mocking him, laughing at him, relishing in the way he flinched from it. He picked up the phone and dashed it to the ground, stomping on it again and again until it was nothing again and Tony could breathe.  
  
He opened a drawer and pulled out the bundle of photographs he'd taken from the mansion. He held it in his hands like a lifeline and said, "I'm going to prove to you I can be good," he put them in his pocket. "I will not fuck this up."  
  
A little voice in his head told him that was all he did, but Tony boxed him away. He was in charge now. He was going to evolve.

* * *

The next week, there's a phone sitting innocently on his bed, a note attached. It's a yellow post it and it read: don't break this one, please.  
  
Tony saw red instantly. Who did Steve think he was, coming into his fucking bedroom and leaving stupid, stupid phones he didn't even want? How did he even get in here? Against this mystery, Tony raged powerlessly. He smashed it to death with a hammer and swept the remains into a trash can and then incinerated them. It was overkill, but it made Tony feel good.  
  
But then two weeks later it was back.  
  
Tony took a swig of whiskey and then hit the dial button. Steve picked up on the first ring.  
  
"Tony?"  
  
"Listen here," Tony began. There were so many words that he didn't know where to begin. Distantly, he heard Friday tell him that he had been placed on speaker. Tony shrugged. All the better to get his message across. "You don't send me these fucking phones when I don't want them, got it? I'm trying to be good here and I can't do that with your emotional baggage in my way."  
  
"Tony-"  
  
"No," he spat. "Don't Tony me, you don't get to do that, not after what you did."  
  
There's a pregnant pause. He heard someone tell Steve, "say something!"  
  
"How will we know when you need us?" Steve asked quietly.  
  
"Wakanda is the most technologically advanced country on the planet, Steve, I'm sure you'll figure something out. Because- fuck, because if you do decide to stop being a hermit and hiding under rocks," Tony had worked himself up to a frenzy now. "Then you should come because you want to, damnit. I don't want you to fucking come because I called. I want you to come when you're ready to admit what a FUCK UP you've been, when you're ready to stand back here and look me in the eye and say, gosh Tony, I'm sorry that I didn't tell you my best friend for life murdered your parents so that you'd have time to come to terms with it rather than have it shoved down your throat! Because Steve, that fucking excuse for an apology letter you sent me was literally you saying I'm sorry but oh wait no I'm not, I've got a new sugar daddy now and I don't need you."  
  
He heard a choke from the back of the room through the phone. "I know I was out of hand. I know I tried to kill Bucky- and I would've too. I would have and I know it and I thank god you stopped me. But why did it have to get to that point Steve? All I wanted from those stupid Accords was to keep us together in the long run. That's all I wanted, Steve. It's all I still want, but you have to want it too, or everything will just happen again. So don't-" Tony took a deep breath. "So don't come just because I called. Come because you want to. Come because you're ready to face the country you deserted. Until then- don't send me anymore phones. I don't want them."  
  
He didn't wait for a reply. He hung up the phone and tossed it into the fireplace.

* * *

After Steve took everything away away from him, Tony wasn't sure what he'd do, but after a week of sitting in his new house and  staring at his wall, smashing things and screaming and generally being a huge fuck up- like he wasn't already, he came out of it deciding to be strong.

  
Because Stark men were made of gold. Stark men never broke, never dulled, never stopped being wanted. Stark men shone like the sun.  
  
Except after he'd tried to go out and instead got bombarded with paparazzi and people asking him about Captain America and all the sad eyes from people who've lost things because of him, he had gone back inside the house and decided that he'd rusted and bent and broke. Tony wasn't made of gold. He was made of shadow, and he was nothing.

* * *

Days passed.  A month. Tony found that he'd run out of wall to stare at. No one had visited him in this time, he found he forgot how to speak, that he could move his mouth to communicate.  
  
"My name is Tony Stark," he tried. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth. He made another valiant effort. "My name is Tony Stark. I am Iron Man. I am going to be good."  
  
So he goes out again- a heroic feat that hurts oh, does it hurt, feeling sun on his skin, his feet on the ground, the people around him talking away. He hurt so much as he walked the block, but when he came to a newspaper stand and saw RELIEF AID FOR COMMUNITIES AROUND SOKOVIA splashed accusingly across the papers he knew what he had to do.  
  
He set up a press conference. It was going to be huge, Tony Stark's first public appearance in two months. Oh, Iron Man had come out for a few bank robberies and that one Hydra incident- but Tony Stark? He had disappeared into nowhere.    
  
The lights blinded him, overwhelmed him, consumed him. He remembered why he hated them. Underneath this light, it was almost impossible to cast a shadow, and that's all he was. The lights eroded him.  
  
"I've been thinking," he told the crowd. Behind, he saw people holding huge signs, JUSTICE FOR SOKOVIA splashed upon them like tears. He took a deep breath. He wondered if Steve was watching. "That Sokovia needs justice." As soon as he said it, the whole hall just shut up. Amazing.  
  
"The Avengers- me. I messed up. I won't do it again. When you- when you can do the things that we do, sometimes it gets to your head. I wanted to save the world before it needed saving. Because, while we do save the world," he paused awkwardly. "We're always only there to mop up the mess. But- well, that didn't work out. And to quote a friend, when you can do the things that we do, the bad things that happen right now? They happen because of you," the silence was deafening. The lights didn't flash anymore. He stared down at those people waiting on his words and wondered why. "Which is why I'm setting up a relief team for Sokovia. Finding homes, jobs, giving aid to those who lost it because of what I did. We all need to be held accountable, if not we're no better than the bad guys. I myself will be flying down to the communities around Sokovia to see what we should address first. And to the rest of you watching."  
  
Tony Stark shrugged on his mask, forgetting how easily it fit his face. He straightened his shoulders. He looked the cameras in the eye. "We're entering new territory. Uncharted, unknown, uncertain. And we always fear what we don't know. Some of you may have abilities. Others may not. So those of you who have them- protect those without. We've lost enough. We don't need to lose more."  
  
There's still silence as he stopped. He clenched his fists, took another deep breath and said, with finality. "That will be all."  
  
And then the hall exploded, and there, in the centre of it all, stood Tony Stark, his back broken with the weight of the world.

* * *

Peter Parker opened the door to his room, sat down at his desk, then proceeded to routinely bang his head against his desk, muttering incomprehensible things like homework, villains...fucking school. He stopped when he realised that the thunks his head was making sounded more solid than usual so he looked up, choked and said, "holy shit."  
  
Because his desk wasn't the thrift store wobbly desk, it was solid wood, sleek and comfortable. And his computer- a Stark Industries model, one that he'd coveted for ages. He swallowed air, whirled around and saw Tony Stark, sitting on his- oh my god, his new bed, beaming at him.  
  
Peter couldn't convey his thoughts, he just pointed at the new stuff, then at Tony, then at the new stuff again.  
  
His phone made a beeping sound.  
  
Tony grinned at him some more. "That was your school informing you your student loans have just been paid off," he said, by way of introduction. "Surprise!"  
  
Peter gaped at him. "Mr. Stark," he started, and at Tony's disapproving look, corrected himself. "Tony- oh my god, thank you so much, what the actual hell," he opened his room door and ran about the apartment, "is that a proper washing machine," he yelled, followed by, "DID YOU BUY ME A FUCKING DISHWASHER?"  
  
"Yes!" Tony called, feeling marginally better about himself now that Peter was receiving this so well. "I couldn't have my favourite spider going without a dishwasher," he said, the last few words getting cut off as Peter hug tackled him to the ground.  
  
"I also saw you quoted me in your press conference, that's insane holy shit, I'm still freaking out over it, is this what you usually do? Tony," something tingled in the back of Peter's neck, causing him to abruptly shut up. It had been developing lately, the more he used his...he didn't actually know what to call it, he'd been going with spiderness the whole time, but it was kind of like a sixth sense. Like an instinctual warning system of danger. He knew when cars were going to hit him before they did, knew when a bullet was coming at his back before it was fired- It was great. But that it would go off now-  
  
He turned to Tony, scrambling off him. He paused, tilted his head. "Are you okay?"  
  
Tony looked like he'd been whacked in the face. "What?"  
  
"Because I don't think you are okay," Peter continued. "At least- is it my place to ask? Because you just gave me all this cool stuff and I don't- but you're not okay, are you? Is it Cap?"  
  
Tony sat up slowly. He twiddled his fingers. He looked away. "I'll get over it."  
  
"Then why're you acting like Sam does when his asshole girlfriend breaks up with him for the fourth time?"  
  
Tony sighed and seemed to shrink before Peter's eyes. It occurred to him then, that Tony Stark was not invincible, that he'd been broken not by a villain but by a friend. "It's okay, you know," Peter said, settling down next to him. "Losing someone hurts, and to have it put in your face like that is just torture."  
  
Tony looked over at him. "You lost someone too?"  
  
"My uncle. His name was Ben and he was a good man," Peter pulled his legs up to his chest. "He died several months ago- but if I ever found who killed him, even if it was years later- I might try to off them too."  
  
"So you're saying you know what I did and you're okay with it?" Tony couldn't believe that he was finding solace in a fifteen year old boy.  
  
"I'm saying that what you did was justified," Peter replied after a moment's pause. "But not necessarily the best thing you could've done. You're not a villain, Tony. Argue if you want about whether you're a hero or not, but you're not a villain."  
  
Something inside Tony broke. "Peter," he said abruptly. "When you're done with school, would you consider joining Stark Industries?"  
  
Peter's eyes grew round. "Yes," he said. "Wait- was that too fast, sorry, I mean, haha, I'll consider it, I mean so many companies would want my skills right?"  
  
Tony cracked a smile. "That's good," he ruffled Peter's hair. "I look forward to being able to boss you around, kid."  
  
Peter huffed and tackled him again.

* * *

"It's no big deal," Peter paced up and down the backstage corridor. "Just a bunch of people. Waiting to hear your project. On molecular genetics. Breathe Parker, don't go freaking out now-"  
  
"You're on," a stagehand punched him and Peter panicked.  
  
He was still panicking as he strode out onto the stage. He fought crime at night, faces down guns and bullets and knives and yet talking to a crowd defeated him. The lights were harsh against his eyes as he starts.  
  
Automatically, he scanned the crowd, waiting for his spider sense- which was what he'd gotten around to calling it, it was so sleek and he personally thought it was his greatest achievement to date- to alert him to any danger, and then stopped dead.  
  
Because sitting in the front row, next to a beaming Aunt May, was Tony Stark. He waved at Peter and gave him two thumbs up, and motioned for him to continue.  
  
So he did.  
  
After the presentation- in which he died several times over, holy shit, he raced toward Tony and Aunt May, who were talking about the guy sitting two rows over.  
  
They both turned when they saw him. Aunt May swept him up in a hug and beamed, Tony ruffled his hair and told him he did good.  
  
Tony looked much better too, the dark circles had disappeared from his eyes, he smiled more easily and let his shoulders fall back sometimes.  
  
Peter grinned up at him. "What're you doing here?"  
  
"Well I heard that you were giving an presentation," Tony started as they walked out of the hall. "And all I had on was a terribly dry meeting with Ross, so I thought what the hell. It was great, by the way."  
  
Peter beamed at him.

* * *

Tony was sitting at his desk, three months after he lost his family, going over a pile of new schematics for an eco friendly car when there's a knock on his front door. He stilled, grabbed a gun, and moved to the front door. He couldn't explain why he had a gun- okay, yes he could, because he was recently attacked by Hydra assassins and now he was paranoid, but holding it didn't make him feel better about it.  
  
He pressed the gun to the door as he pulled it open.  
  
"Tony," the person at the door greeted- and it's Natasha, oh, he never thought he'd see her again. Her hair was longer than ever, her eyes sad and her body tilted. "Hi."  
  
Tony gaped at her. "Natasha," he choked. His hands drop the gun and he makes a cut off movement that looked like he was about to hug her.  
  
Natasha tilted her head at him and then pulled him into a hug. Everything hurt him, holding onto her was like holding onto shattered glass but he kept it up, because it was Natasha and he loved her. Oh god she smelt like strawberries and wind and everything that he'd lost and he ached so much he thought he would implode.  
  
He pulled her in and asked, "what are you doing here?"  
  
"I came to see you," Natasha said softly. She brushed some hair out of his eyes. "You seem to be better now."  
  
Tony looked away. "It was hard for a while," he replied honestly. "But I'm getting there. How's- how's Steve?"  
  
"A mess," she deadpanned. "We all thought you'd come out the worse here, but you've proven us wrong. You're doing good here, Tony."  
  
Tony held her face in his hands. "I missed you."  
  
"And I you," she grinned at him. "Is it okay...if I stay in America?"  
  
"What, like...come back?" Everything was moving so fast Tony felt like his world was getting flipped. "You want to come back?"  
  
"I never stayed away because I hated you, Tony," Natasha said softly. She looked away from him, embarrassed. "We took you for granted. You- you had good intentions. You always wanted what was best for the team, and I am sorry. But I had to help Steve. I heard your phone call to him, and I wanted to come back for a long time but you needed time to heal."  
  
Tony considered this. True, if Nat had been here earlier he might've said things he didn't mean and hurt her and pushed her away forever. He didn't mind but he knew- he knew Natasha couldn't stay here, as in stay in the house with him. He needed to be alone, in this hazy, comfortable space. He needed to take his time.  
  
He knew he would fall apart.  
  
"SHIELD wants you back," he told her instead. "Their missions have been going bust because their best agent isn't around. But Nat-"  
  
"I can't stay here," she nodded at him. "I know, and it is okay. I'll come visit every Wednesday."  
  
"You better," Tony felt so relieved every bone in his body hurt. "Thank you."  
  
"Thank _you_ ," she sits on the edge of the sofa. "For sticking around. The world still needs us."  
  
"You think they'll ever have us again?"  
  
"I do," she said honestly. "One day. Sooner than you think."

"You were never an optimistic one," Tony was still staring at her as if he couldn't believe she was really here. "You sure you're Nat?"

"I'm not being optimistic, I am being realistic. Cap's all..god, he is a mess, Tony. A literal mess. He doesn't eat, doesn't sleep, spends half his time worrying about you and the threats in America. But every time we bring up going home- he shuts us down."

"Does he know you're back?"

"Course he does," Natasha looked at him seriously. "We've had enough secrets and going behind each other's back. This team needs serious re-configuring."

"And you'll help me with that?" Tony asked. He didn't think he had ever felt so relieved. 

"Of course I will, you idiot," Natasha grinned at him. "I think that's enough chick flick moments for one day, don't you think?"  
  
He huffed. "Don't diss the chick flick moments," he got up and crossed over to a cupboard that was bolted shut. He unlocked it and began to rummage through it, before pulling out a suitcase. He turned to Natasha. "This is all your stuff you left behind."  
  
"You kept it all this time?" She asked, amazed. Something inside her expanded and burst, like a balloon of emotion.  
  
"I was going to donate them but I never...I didn't want it to be so final," he motioned at the cupboard. "I have everyone's. Even Steve's. Rhodey helped me clean that one out... I couldn't. Not yet."  
  
Her head whipped up. "How is Rhodey by the way?"  
  
Tony held out his hand. "I think there's a lot we need to catch up on and there's a shwarma stand a few blocks down. Hungry, Widow?"  
  
"I could eat," she shrugged and took his hand. "All I've had is fruit and curry for a while. Wakanda, while great, does not have America's taste."

"What, taste in terrible junk food?" He wrinkled his nose. 

"There's nothing like home cuisine," she winked, and he laughed.  
  
Together, they stepped out of the house, and for once, for once in a very long while, Tony felt that things were not so dark after all. For once, Tony felt real.

* * *

"We are so fucked!" Tony yelped as he dodged a laser beam- it decapitated a signpost instead.  
  
"And here I thought you would have to tell me to mind my language," Peter laughed as he flips neatly over a robot.  
  
"Get them in the eye," Natasha instructed. "Weak point."  
  
Peter punched right though a robot's mainframe.  
  
"That works too," she conceded. Peter laughed.  
  
"Have you had any training?" Tony commented, catching a missile and redirecting it to a group of robots. The resulting boom was satisfying. "Like at all?"  
  
Peter hesitated on his response. "I...do push ups?"  
  
"Not good enough and you know it kid," Tony grabbed his arm and launched him in the air. "I demand weekly training sessions."  
  
"I have other commitments," he protested ineffectually. "What will I tell Aunt May?"  
  
"That you're taking fight classes cause of some bully in school," Tony shrugged as he blasted through some robots. It had been ages since he put on the suit. He'd forgotten how second nature it felt. "Your main commitment is staying alive."  
  
"Look at you, being all father like," Natasha smirked as she electrocuted a robot. "Never thought I'd-"  
  
"Widow duck!" Peter suddenly yelled, and Natasha didn't think, just dropped to the ground. A missile flew over her head and smashed into the ground.  
  
"Good call," she coughed, shaking dust out of her hair. "Thanks."  
  
"Where'd these robots come from anyway?" He grumbled, using his webbing to tie the legs of one together.  
  
"Hydra," Tony said, sounding all knowing. Peter turned to give him an impressed look through the mask. "They've got their logos on the bottom."  
  
Peter sighed.    
  
A news van hurtled the corner, the cameraman hanging out of the van. One of the robots turned to him.  
  
"Motherfuck-" Tony yelled and swerved in front of him, catching a blast full in the chest. He toppled over and over and slammed into a wall.  
  
"Tony!" Peter and Natasha both shouted at the same time. Peter ran for him and Natasha to the news van, telling him to get the hell out of here or so help her she was feeding them to the robots as bait. The news van got out of there pretty quick. Tony, on the other hand, was still down.  
  
Peter cranked off the face mask.  
  
Tony groaned and looked up at him, grinning softly. His nose was broken, his chest plate dented, but he looked alright. "Kid," he said softly. "Duck."  
  
Peter dropped, trusting him completely. Tony's arc reactor fired up- and the last Hydra robot behind them dropped to the ground.    
  
"Spidey sense not working out for you?"  
  
"Happens when I get distracted," Peter patted his face. "You sure you're okay?"  
  
"I might have some bruises," Tony groaned as he pushed himself into seating position. "But I've had worse."  
  
There's a pause and Tony looked away.  
  
Unbidden, the memory of the fight with Steve and Bucky came to the front of his mind. God, he'd been in the hospital for a month after that. He had broken ribs, broken arm, broken hand, concussion, fractured skull- he recalled when Steve lifted the shield and slammed it into his arc reactor. Never- not in any fight had Tony ever been so sure he was going to die. He saw Steve's trajectory, and in that moment he thought Steve was going to decapitate him, and yet- and yet he hadn't fired his repulsors in a sure death blow when he lifted his hands to defend himself.  
  
Tony liked to pretend it was just because he was distracted. But he knew otherwise. He loved him too much to ever dare killing him.  
  
Some part of him knew that this love wasn't the same love he had for Natasha or, surprisingly, Clint. It was the kind of love that consumed you and made you ache. It was the kind of love that made you want the other. It was the kind of love that you lived for.  
  
For the first time since he ever began to love Steve, he accepted it. That he loved him, that no matter what Steve did some part of him would always love him.

* * *

Six months had passed since the Day. Tony had been marking it on his calendar. Six months had passed since Tony lost his family.  
  
Tony was sitting on a park bench. This was a rare occurrence, he mainly stuck to his workshop or the house but something- something called to him and so he had gone, and the birds were chirping and the sun was setting, turning the clouds to fire.  
  
Tony sat on the bench and looked at the sky and wondered why he didn't do it more often. He thought about the last six months. He had been broken, and he walked. He was nothing, and he stood. He was a myriad of broken things but he- he would be the king of broken pieces, he decided. He would not let himself be defeated by his demons. If they couldn't be drowned- he would set them on fire. Because they belonged to him, and they would obey him.  
  
There's a sudden creak on the bench, and someone sat next to him. Tony was immediately annoyed. There were dozens of empty park benches, why couldn't- and then the smell hit him.  
  
It was the smell of leather and metal and something else, and Tony knew in that instance who was sitting next to him.  
  
"Hello, Tony," the man said and turned to face him.  
  
Tony sighed, and his whole body somehow relaxed, a tension he hadn't even known was there. "Hello, Steve."  
  
There's silence.  
  
"I'm sorry," Steve said. His hands gripped the edges of the bench, his knuckles turning white.  
  
"What?" Tony turned his head to look at him.  
  
"You told me to only come back when I was ready to admit my mistakes. Well I am. I'm sorry, Tony- I should've told you about your parents long ago, but I didn't want to face up to fact that Bucky might have had a hand in it. And you're right- that letter was bullshit," Steve blinked hard and looked away.

  
"It's not your fault," Tony eventually replied. "Well- it's not entirely your fault. I overreacted. Justifiably, but still. I would've killed Bucky and I'm glad you stopped me."

"The past six months- not some of my finest moments,” Steve made a painful sound. “But you've- you've managed to make the world better than ever. Tony- you’ve been up here being a hero- I saw the Hydra attack, while I was hiding from you because I was too ashamed I compromised my own personal morals about truth and honesty because it was Bucky. I don’t regret it, I still don’t and I would do it again but- I hurt you. And I am sorry."

  
“I am sorry I didn’t listen to you,” Tony admitted. “Things could have been a whole lot easier if our communication skills didn’t suck so much.”  
  
There's silence again.  
  
"How long are you planning on staying?"  
  
"Permanently," Steve got out. "If that's alright."  
  
"Since when have you ever had to ask permission from me, Captain?" Tony turned to look at him, really look at him, and saw the green in the blue of his eyes- that he'd lost weight, with dark circles underneath his eyes and a hollowed out face. "The world needs us, you know. The Avengers. One thing I've learnt? Our differences don't have to make us divided."  
  
"I know. I was hoping- systemically. I was thinking we'd start with lunch. Just you and me. At that Thai place you wanted to bring me."  
  
Something inside Tony broke and broke again at hearing Steve's voice. He'd imagined hearing it for so long but having it in person made him completely and irrevocably emotional. He placed his hand on the side of Steve's face, and when he didn't object, pulled him into a one sided, awkward hug.  
  
Steve tensed- Tony could feel it, and he wondered how Steve could end up more broken than he did. If there was anyone of them who didn't deserve anything remotely happy, it was Tony. Not Steve. Steve deserved everything. Then Steve jerked- and pulled back from Tony like he'd been branded, one hand on his left arm.  
  
"Tony," he whispered, broken, and Tony looked down in confusion at his arm- and saw.  
  
Against his tan skin, the white lines were obvious and, dare he say it, stark against his skin. He was developing a scar hider to see if he could smooth over them.  
  
"I wasn't in a good place, Steve," Tony said softly. "And neither were you."  
  
"Have you stopped?" Steve asked, his grip tightening until it bordered on painful.  
  
"I realised that wasn't who I wanted to be, so yes, I have," Tony pulled his sleeve back down over them.  
  
Steve looked haunted, he looked like he might run away, but then a figure seemingly melted out of the shadows and placed a metal arm on Steve's shoulder. "It's not your fault," Tony says at the same time Bucky does.  
  
Steve looked at him, guilt pouring from every orifice.  
  
Tony looked at Bucky instead. He looked happier, more grounded, less like he was about to blow away. Bucky met his gaze.  
  
"I'm sorry I killed your parents," Bucky said sincerely.  
  
Tony looked hard at him. The words come as if rehearsed. "It wasn't you."  
  
Bucky shrugged his shoulders and then held out both hands to Tony. "But I did it. These two hands, no matter what you or Steve or anyone tries to tell me, killed things. The Winter Soldier is part of me, whether I like it or not. I will never be able to erase what I did but maybe- maybe I can start making amends."  
  
Tony took a moment to process this. "I know too much about making mistakes and fixing them," and he stood up, and took both of Bucky's hands. "I'm sorry I tried to kill you."  
  
"Likewise," Bucky nodded, and Tony cracked a small smile.  
  
Steve grabbed his hand, and Bucky took the other, and for once, Tony didn't feel like shadow. Something molten rushed over all his pieces, not to destroy- but, for once in a long while, to mend.  
  
Tony may not have been made of gold, and he may have been so broken that some pieces would always be gone- but he could be repaired by it. His cracks weren’t to be ashamed of, but were a testament to the things he had gone through. He was broken and he lived, and for once, he thought, maybe he could be proud of that.


	2. Steve Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, when had us against the world become me against you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise this took ages to write, I am a failure but I wanted to get this done for Steve's birthday hahaha.  
> The reason it took so long was because Steve has to hate Tony, or at least mildly dislike him, and that is so difficult for me, a tony stark all the way to write.

The metal walls of the plane encaged him. Steve fidgeted in his seat, looked out of the window and thought about everything he left behind.    
  
In front of him sat Sam, next to Wanda and Natasha. As soon as they had broken Clint out of the prison he'd marched off to his farm like an old, beaten down man fed up with the current century, and Scott had shrunk to the size of an ant and told them that the US government would have to watch where they put their feet.    
  
Steve had let them go because he knew that the government would not consider Scott Lang and Clint Barton threats. Clint had retired, he had a family and a farm off the record, he was going to be left alone. Scott was a newcomer and he probably didn't  even know what they were fighting about, probably didn't know anyone on the team apart from Wanda and Steve and only joined he was bored and because Captain America asked him to. Jesus- talk about an abuse of power.    
  
As for Wanda and Sam, he'd made them come because if they got to Sam then they'd get to Steve and Wanda technically couldn't go back to America and she couldn't go anywhere else. Natasha had wanted to come, she had joked about seeing the sights but Steve knew it was something to do with Tony and why she'd let them go. He knew if she stayed that Tony would never forgive her.    
  
Suddenly, he understood why Tony wanted to keep Wanda at home. Not to encage her, but to make sure she could stay with the people and the place best suited for her, not stateless as she is now. He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt wash over him like a tidal wave.    
  
Next to him, Bucky looked distressed. Before, he kept walking funny because he was so off balance from losing his arm...again. Steve pushed through his tangle of emotions to ask him if he was alright.    
  
"Yeah," he said, and fiddled with his ear. Steve zeroed in on that like a hawk eyeing his prey. "It's just- ever since the cryo chamber, I don't really like small spaces."   
  
Steve mentally counted this as a win because getting Bucky to tell him anything personal lately was like getting a mountain to move. "You're in luck. The flight'll be at least twelve hours."   
  
Bucky balked.    
  
Steve chuckled.    
  
T'Challa moved his way to sit in front of them. He eyed them seriously. Bucky tensed up and strained against the seatbelt, and Steve placed his hand on his shoulder. "America will be looking for you," he said softly. "I will keep you in Wakanda. It is safest there, and maybe we can fix your arm, James."   
  
"You aren't going to try and kill me, are you?" Bucky deadpanned.    
  
T'Challa made a noise that sounded like an aborted laugh. "No," he shook his head. "This time it really wasn't you. My father's death is not on your hands. I have no conflict with you, and I apologise for wrongfully jumping to conclusions and attacking you."   
  
Steve felt an overwhelming respect for T'Challa, and judging by Bucky's relaxation, he did too. Not many men- especially powerful ones, could accept being wrong so gracefully. He thought of Tony Stark.    
  
Sam looked back over at them. "Still want to know," he asked flippantly. "You like cats?"   
  
This time T'Challa did snort. "I could tell you all about the mythologies of my people," he said, moving around to sit next to Sam. "Would you appreciate that?"   
  
"I would, actually," Sam made a keep talking gesture. "It's a long plane flight. Might as well learn something."   
  
T'Challa tilted his head at him and considered this. "Very well," he said. "The spirit of the Black Panther is a warrior mantle passed down from generation to generation."   
  


* * *

  
  
T'Challa stopped talking when Sam fell asleep, though he didn't seem offended, more amused by the man. He looked up at Steve- who despite his best efforts, couldn't  find sleep.    
  
"Is he always like this?" He asked softly, gesturing at Sam.    
  
"Yeah," Steve replied affectionately. "But he's great. I don't know what I'd do without him."   
  
T'Challa considered this. "You are a man who inspires loyalty," he told Steve as he got up and stretched. "Your people- even Mr. Stark, would follow you to the ends of the earth, even if it is not the right path. That is a burden, Captain, one you have to be prepared to bear."   
  
Steve looked solemnly at him.    
  
"You have to watch where you bring them. Because some places you go- others can't follow," he gestured at the plane. "You've already brought them far from home. How much further can they carry on?"   
  
Bucky made a noise in his sleep and turned his head. It fell onto Steve's shoulder and he hurriedly adjusted so that it would rest more comfortably.    
  
"If there's no one to challenge you on your decisions," T'Challa continued seriously. "How will you know if what you're doing is right?"   
  
Bucky still smelt like his Bucky, still sounded like his Bucky, still felt like his Bucky. Sam's snoring filled the plane gently, Wanda smacked him and turned over. Natasha giggled and Wanda hit her too.    
  
"I have faith in my team," Steve replied, but his chest ached with how much he loved them and how much he couldn't bear to lose them. He gripped Bucky's arm tightly, memorising the feel of his skin beneath his hand. "And I trust myself."   
  
"Sometimes, we think we're doing what's best for our people, but we're projecting our emotions onto them. It is a problem faced by kings too," T'Challa's gaze lingered on his face. "You would do well to recognise when it happens."   
  
Steve looked away and closed his eyes, pretending to go to sleep. T'Challa sighed and walked off to his seat, leaving Steve alone with the plane and his thoughts.    
  


* * *

  
  
Steve poked Bucky with one hand, stretching around the seat, which was covering his whole body.    
  
"You look ridiculous," Sam snorted. "Is this necessary?"   
  
Steve gave him a look. "He ripped out your steering wheel. With one hand. Do you want to be the one who abruptly wakes him up?" Steve poked him again. "Bucky," he said. "We've landed. Wake up."   
  
Bucky made a noise and turned around. Sam sighed. "Let's go!" He yelled, and Bucky jerked awake, pushed against the seatbelt, and slammed a punch into the seat next to him.   
  
There's a moment of silence. Then, "I think I bruised my knuckles," Bucky shook his hand and unclasped his seatbelt.    
  
"I think I'm glad I wasn't sitting there," Steve gave Sam a look to end all looks. Sam laughed and neatly hopped off the plane. The heat hit them instantly, a dry, arid heat completely different from America. It got hot there, yes, but nothing like this.    
  
They hadn't landed on the official pad, because they weren't supposed to be here. T'Challa gave them a bodyguard, a woman with a shaved head and a stare that struck fear into people's hearts. Steve could tell that Natasha liked her.    
  
They had stayed in America long enough for them to recover at a shady hospital that Nat had found for them. During that time, Steve had prepared a letter to Tony, to be posted by Sharon when he left. He should be receiving it now, Steve thought.    
  
His thoughts were pushed out of his mind when they emerged on a cliff and saw the city of Wakanda spread out before them like glittering glass. It was a beautiful city, high-tech and modern, gleaming in the sun. It was nothing like America. Steve didn't know he could miss a place like that, and it was heightened by the fact that he couldn't go home.  Ever.    
  
He was Captain America. Without the America- without the shield, who was he? The answer came to him as though borne by wings. He was no one. He was nothing. He was void.    
  


* * *

  
  
"Thank god for air conditioning," Sam said as they stepped into the building where they would be staying. It was T'Challa's house, but as the king of Wakanda, it boasted dozens of rooms, air conditioning- and twenty four hour security.    
  
Natasha surveyed the place, talking in low voices with Wanda. They laughed at something together. Steve thought of Tony, of how much he always talked about visiting Wakanda because of its status as the most modernised city in the world. Tony would've loved this. Steve felt something in him die at that thought. He wondered how he was doing, because his coping method was always terrible. After the events of Ultron, Tony locked himself in his workshop and nearly drunk himself to death. Steve had found him slumped over a countertop when Friday had informed them that Tony's heart was failing.    
  
He hoped it wouldn't be that way, but Tony was an old dog, and you couldn't teach him new tricks. He was resistant to any attempt to change things about himself. Which was why it was good they left. Very good. A leader resistant to change is not a good leader at all.    
  
He felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest, but at that moment, Bucky came over and squeezed his shoulder tightly. "I may not remember much, Steve, but I do know when you're putting on a brave face."   
  
Steve's heart broke. He couldn't decide if it was better or worse having Bucky around to know him like this. "It's ah, it's okay. I was just thinking about-"   
  
"Stark," Bucky nodded like he understood everything. "You were never very interested in girls. That kiss with the blonde woman was painful to watch."   
  
"No!" Steve's heart leapt into his throat and he physically tensed. "No, Tony and I- we're not, and Sharon," he took a deep breath. "Tony and I never dated. And Sharon- okay, I didn't really want to kiss Sharon, it just kind of happened. Okay?"   
  
"Was that your first kiss since ever?" Bucky asked, sitting down at a marble table and pulling Steve down next to him.    
  
"No," he huffed. "I kissed Peggy."   
  
"Seriously?"   
  
"And I kissed Natasha."   
  
"She didn't immediately kill you?"   
  
"Well she kissed me."   
  
"You're not giving me the details Rogers," Bucky said, breaking out into his old grin and oh, oh that hurt somewhere it did, the kind of hurt you got when a wound stitched itself back up together. "I gotta know everything I've missed out on. I can't," he stretched out a hand and placed it on the side of Steve's face. "I've missed you," and he said it so simply and so honestly that Steve leapt for him and pulled him into an embrace hard enough that if he were a regular human like Tony he'd have broken a few ribs.    
  
"I'm sorry I didn't go after you when you fell," Steve whispered.    
  
"I'm sorry I tried to kill you on multiple occasions," Bucky whispered back, and Steve huffed a painful laugh.    
  
"I'd take all the near death experiences in the world if it meant I'd have you back."    
  


* * *

  
  
Steve's room is simple, with a king bed in the middle of a small room. There's a desk of carved oak, a laptop, an en suite, and two large windows overlooking the jungle. Steve felt at peace here, in a way the city never did it for him. He thought maybe when he finally grew old he'd come back here and retire. Then he realised he was making the assumption that he'd live that long.    
  
There was also a phone on the desk. It was a simple, black Nokia phone, with only two numbers programmed into it. It was his only lifeline to Tony Stark. He held the phone in his hand and his fingers ached to press the dial button, to ask him how he was doing, to tell him I'm sorry, I love you, can I come home?   
  
But he wouldn't. Because Tony tried to kill him, because Tony tried to kill Bucky, because Tony had wandered so far off what was right that everywhere in him ached. He can't- he won't go back to a place like that.   
  
The second number was Sharon's. Steve was grateful for her, but he didn't love her. Not in the way she wanted him to. She was Peggy's niece, for crying out loud. If Peggy had known that Steve had kissed her he would be shot so full of bullets he'd never come back from.    
  
Thinking about Peggy made him upset, so he pushed the phone into his pocket and turned the volume up loud so he wouldn't miss a call.   
  


* * *

  
  
Wakanda was different. Steve missed the feel of America, the people, the things he could do there. In Wakanda, he had sat and done nothing for a week, because he couldn't be out in public. Not yet, anyway. It was too soon, and their fight all over the news. This was exactly what Tony tried to make them do in America, but at least they were together then. He wondered why he didn't just listen, but then Bucky wandered into the living room, testing out a new prototype for his arm and smiling when he saw Steve and he remembered why. Then he asked himself why he didn't just tell Tony about his parents before he found Bucky. Of course he had an answer to that. Tony would've flipped, he would've gone bad, he would've hunted Bucky down like a dog and Steve wouldn't be able to help him.    
  
"How's the hand?" Steve asked when Bucky plopped down next to him and punched his arm with it.    
  
"It's okay," he said softly, swinging his hand around. "T'Challa says he can make it out of vibranium, like your shield."   
  
Steve opened his mouth to reply, but then the phone in his pocket started to wail. Sharon was calling and he grabbed the phone, nearly flinging it out of his hands in his haste.    
  
"What's wrong?" He asked so fast that the words slurred together and became incomprehensible.    
  
"Hey Steve, Tony smashed his phone into little bits," she said, sounding amused and slightly worried. "Should we send him a new one?"   
  
"How do you know?" Steve asked, aghast. He wondered what would make Tony break the phone, then he remembered what he did, and Tony's tendency for anger.    
  
"I put this thing the CIA has in the battery. It alerts me if it stops responding, meaning it's out of battery or broken. And well- the pieces are on the floor of the old Avengers mansion."   
  
"Send him a new one," Steve said, but then within a week it was broken again.   
  
Steve thought Tony was being slightly childish. He was taking his anger out on the thing Steve sent to help him. It was a good thing they left. So he sent him another one. Just in case. Not because he feared for Tony's well-being but because he feared for the safety of America being left in the hands of a drunken madman.    
  
Two weeks after he heard that Tony broke the phone again, he was sitting in the living room with everyone. Wanda was playing Monopoly with T'Challa, Sam and Bucky. He was for once excused from his kingly duties, and Sam was having a fun time teaching Bucky and him how to play.    
  
When Bucky got sent to prison for the third time in a row, he nearly snapped the piece he was using in half. Sam found this hilarious. Steve didn't feel much at all.    
  
Wanda was moving the pieces and dealing out the money with her mind, so little red sparks constantly zipped here and there. One landed on his thigh and gave him a small static shock and Steve jerked, causing Nat to hit him.    
  
She was lying on his lap, flicking through a magazine. She looked bored as hell and missing someone- Clint. Of course. She shouldn't even be here, she'd lost everything to help him.    
  
He was just about to tell Natasha something, anything- when the phone issued a series of beeps.    
  
Everyone froze. Steve fumbled for the phone and answered immediately, his heart rate increasing exponentially. Tony would never- his ego would always get in the way of calling, he would never- what was going on in America that he needed to call? He knew Tony couldn't do it on his own. He knew he would come crawling back.    
  
"Tony?" Steve asked nervously. Sam punched his arm and told him to put it on speaker. He obliged.    
  
"Listen here," the voice on the line began almost instantly. He didn't sound drunk, he didn't sound scared. He just sounded...angry. Steve stared in surprise. "You don't send me these fucking phones when I don't want them, got it? I'm trying to be good here and I can't do that with your emotional baggage in my way."   
  
The room went so silent you could hear a pin drop. Steve couldn't believe what he was hearing, and judging by the shocked expressions on the other's faces, they couldn't either. He cycled through the code words to let the team know when someone had a gun on them, but none of them came up.    
  
"Tony-" he tried, but was abruptly cut off by Tony literally seething through the phone.    
  
"No," he said viciously. "Don't Tony me, you don't get to do that, not after what you did."   
  
Steve didn't know what to say. There was a pause, and then Bucky gestured for him to say something and told him so.    
  
"How will we know when you need us?" He tried, because this- this wasn't supposed to go this way, Tony was supposed to be grateful. He was supposed to be thankful that Steve made an effort and here he was, just throwing it back into his face like that. He knew that Tony wasn't a nice person. He knew it, yet somehow the validation of his thoughts made him feel terrible.    
  
"Wakanda is the most technologically advanced country on the planet, Steve, I'm sure you'll figure something out," Tony hissed, and Steve took a step back from the anger in his voice. Everyone balked- he hadn't told him in the letter that he was going to Wakanda. Tony must've figured it out. Because Tony was smart. "Because- fuck, because if you do decide to stop being a hermit and hiding under rocks, then you should come because you want to, damnit."   
  
Bucky moved closer to Steve as though he could fight off Tony's words. Steve held onto him like a lifeline.    
  
"I don't want you to fucking come because I called. I want you to come when you're ready to admit what a FUCK UP you've been, when you're ready to stand back here and look me in the eye and say, gosh Tony, I'm sorry that I didn't tell you my best friend for life murdered your parents so that you'd have time to come to terms with it rather than have it shoved down your throat!"    
  
Steve didn't think he'd ever heard Tony this angry before. It sent shivers down his spine, but at the same time his words made so much sense that somewhere deep inside he knew it to be right. He pushed aside that feeling and concentrated on the memory of Tony aiming a goddamn missile at Bucky.     
  
"Because Steve, that fucking excuse for an apology letter you sent me was literally you saying I'm sorry but oh wait no I'm not, I've got a new sugar daddy now and I don't need you."   
  
T'Challa made a choking noise in the background and put both hands up. Steve remembered that the others didn't know what was in the letter. Maybe he should've gone over it with them. But Tony still tried to kill Bucky. That was unforgivable, that was wrong, he was out of line. Steve had to stop him    
  
"I know I was out of hand," and okay, that admittance was unexpected. Tony never acknowledged his errors. "I know I tried to kill Bucky- and I would've too. I would have and I know it and I thank god you stopped me. But why did it have to get to that point Steve? All I wanted from those stupid Accords was to keep us together in the long run. That's all I wanted, Steve. It's all I still want, but you have to want it too, or everything will just happen again. So don't-" Tony took a deep breath, his words coming slower now. "So don't come just because I called. Come because you want to. Come because you're ready to face the country you deserted. Until then- don't send me anymore phones. I don't want them."   
  
The sudden dial tone hit Steve like a bullet. He knew that Tony had probably broken the phone again. He stared at the one in his hand like it was a bomb, and oh, he supposed it was, and it had gone off in front of his face.   
  
He didn't imagine the first time he'd be hearing Tony's voice since the fight would be like this. He got irrationally angry, flung the phone into the corridor. "That ungrateful-" Steve began, but then the phone was caught gently by Wanda, who laid it on the floor.    
  
"What are you doing?" Steve asked, baffled. "That phone is useless to us now."   
  
"He has a point," Wanda said seriously. She gave Steve a look. "And you're being blind about it."   
  
"He locked you in the house," Steve whispered, like it was a truth that couldn't be told.    
  
"He wanted me to stay in the house to protect me- so I wouldn't end up hiding from the rest of the world," Wanda sounded bitter. She was a child. She shouldn't be bitter. "I- by disobeying him I was a child going against the wishes of her parents and now I've left what could have been my home behind."   
  
"No," Steve shook his head. "He had no right to keep you in there. He had no right! Why are you defending him?"   
  
"He had every right," Wanda started to get agitated. The little red sparks were gathering in number near the monopoly board. "I was under his roof. I was wearing his clothes and eating his food," Wanda eyed Steve warily. "I was wrong to leave because I was angry. Tony Stark isn't a bad man. He's a good man making hard choices. He always wanted what was best for us."   
  
Steve gaped at her. "So you're siding with him now? He created Ultron, he was responsible for what happened to your country," Steve wanted to add in a jibe about Pietro but he knew he was better than that.    
  
"And what, he killed my brother?" The red sparks reached a peak and money started to fly all over the room. Sam started, Bucky jerked backwards and Natasha looked at Wanda, concerned. "That's like saying you stopped at a traffic light two days ago and started the apocalypse. He had no control over Ultron's actions- do you even know why he created it?" Steve only felt a surge of satisfaction at the mess that was being created. The little metal pieces they were moving about the board started to bend and twist. Good. He wanted everyone to hate him, he wanted them to scream and rue the day they ever listened to him.    
  
"He created Ultron because he wanted to play God," Steve seethed. "He wanted to try and be better than everyone else, he wanted everything under his control."   
  
"For god's sake Steve," Wanda cried. "You know he created Ultron because of what I showed him. I'm as much to blame for Ultron as he is."   
  
"You showed him something?" Natasha asked quietly, and Wanda realised that everyone was looking at her with a blank face.   
  
"What- he didn't tell you?" The money was starting to make a descent, but most of it was still fluttering about, borne on the air by red sparks    
  
"Tony tells us nothing about himself," Natasha replied. She placed a hand on Steve's shoulder- not in solidarity but in warning. He resisted the overwhelming urge to shrug it off. "He thinks no one cares about his problems."   
  
Wanda looked at her and Steve. "I showed him a world in chaos. I showed him his team, broken at his feet," and here the money dropped, and everything ceased. Wanda slumped over like all the fight had been taken out of her. "My orders were to tear him apart from the inside, so I showed him his worst nightmare. His team was all dead. He ran to you first," she makes a sad gesture at Steve. "And I made you say that he didn't do enough. I made him feel responsible, so that he would feel survivor's guilt."   
  
There's a pause, and then she got a horrified look on her face. "And- and I don't think he ever knew I made the vision. I think he thinks it was just another one of his hallucinations from his hell of a head. He's a good man, Steve. He just fears losing you all the most, and it consumes him like a cancer."   
  
Steve felt like the whole world was crumbling at his feet. "His biggest fear was losing us?"   
  
"It would appear so," she said softly. "And we made it happen."   
  
Something inside Steve broke away to nothing. All the pent up anger he felt dissolved into guilt and panic and sadness. He made an attempt at saying something, then gave up and just stalked off instead, hands in his pockets.    
  


* * *

  
  
Bucky stood in his doorway and looked solemnly at Steve. He didn't say a word, merely looked at him.    
  
Steve sighed when he saw him but made no attempt to stop him when he came and sat down next to him.    
  
Steve didn't say anything. He fisted his hands in the sheets instead. Then, finally, he whispered, so soft you could've missed it, "Tony and I never dated," his eyes flicked up the Bucky. "But I would've liked to."   
  
Bucky nodded like he understood. He handed Steve a pad and a set of pencils. "I remember," he said quietly. "When you were down, you liked to draw. I am not the same person I was, and you are not the same person you were, but I think this still applies."   
  
Steve took the pencils and held them in his shaking hands. "Are you alright?"   
  
"I will be," Bucky said sadly. "I hope so."   
  
Steve looked up at him, and together they sat on the bed, relishing in each other's company, until the sun had dropped low beneath the horizon and all he could see of Bucky was the gleam of his eyes.     
  


* * *

  
  
Steve was sitting at the dinner table. The food was, for once, spaghetti and meatballs, courtesy of Sam, but he stared at his portion and found he couldn't eat.    
  
He wondered if Tony was doing alright.    
  
"Can you pass the pepper?" Bucky asked, causing Steve to look up.    
  
Sam looked at the pepper next to him, then at Bucky. "No," he deadpanned and went on eating.    
  
"Can you pass me the pepper?" Natasha asked, and Sam meaningfully put down his fork, picked up the pepper, and put it into her hands.    
  
Bucky mimed smacking his face into the bowl of pasta. Everyone laughed and Wanda floated the pepper over to him, which he took with a nod and a thanks.    
  
Well- everyone laughed- except for Steve, who was still poking at his noodles like they'd personally offended his grandmother. Finally, he excused himself and wandered from the table.    
  
He eventually found himself standing in front of his desk. The pencils and the paper stood untouched on the table, mocking him and the things he's left.    
  
So he picked up a pencil, pressed it to the paper, and stopped. Because- god, he had so many things swirling about in him that he didn't know where to start.    
  
He drew a person instead, and if it started to take on the resemblance of Tony, well, he would deny it.    
  


* * *

  
It soon became apparent to Steve that he could lose time imagining things. His head contained a fix-it world, a world where no fighting ever happened and he was with Tony and Tony smiled and laughed and held him and everything was okay.    
  
He could lose half an hour at a stretch just imagining how things could've gone better, or worse. Once, he imagined something so hard that he nearly made himself cry. It was a scenario where Tony had hated him and gone to his grave hating him and Steve had jerked from that daydream and pressed call on his phone to someone who'd never pick up.    
  
He honestly thought he was being pathetic. Because these dreams- they weren't anything sexual. One, he and Tony went for ice cream together and Tony put some of his strawberry cone on his nose and oh wait, that did happen, it happened in real life. Steve was dreaming so much the lens between what had actually happened and what didn't had become non-existent.    
  
Sometimes, he would blink open his eyes from a daydream expecting to see Tony looking sleepily beside him. It was torturous.    
  
His sketchbook had started to take on a pattern- everything in it had Tony featured in one point or another. He drew Tony from memory, him sitting there by the lake when they went there to feed ducks, him in his workshop looking dead to the world after having gone without sleep for several days.      
  
And he drew Tony from imagining, the way Steve thought his eyes would look like in firelight, the way he thought his hands would look like covered in sand. He drew Tony at the beach, with the team, he drew his hands and his smile and his eyes and he drew Tony so much that his memories of him started to take on a drawing like style.    
  
He hadn't been out of his room in days. Bucky had knocked- everyone had knocked and left plates of food outside the door but Steve wasn't interested in the food, he was too busy thinking of parallel worlds where Tony and him could've been happy.    
  
There's a knock on his door again, a double tap that told him it's Wanda. "Steve?" She asked, and oh, she sounded scared. "There's something you've got to see." Steve blinked his eyes open, kind of indignant that he was torn out of a daydream.   
  
"I'm fine," he mumbled, and he is. His head kind of hurts from dehydration though.   
  
The door slammed open, red sparks bursting into the room and he sat bolt upright, staring wide-eyed at the girl, who was seething. "Tony Stark is on the television. I thought you'd like to know."   
  
Then she turned around and was gone.    
  


* * *

  
  
Steve took a few steps and nearly toppled over, but soon regained his footing and managed to make it to the living room, where the team sat anxiously.    
  
Tony's face was all over the screen. He was looking- well, to the untrained eye, fine, but Steve noticed the twitching of his fingers and the shaking of his shoulders that told him it was a winter in his head. He recognised his own. But other than that- Tony looked okay. Seeing Tony, hearing him speak, oh, every part of him hurt at that. He wanted to fling himself into the television if it meant that he would get to hear him speak live.    
  
I've been thinking," Tony told them seriously. "That Sokovia needs justice."    
  
Wanda visibly stiffened. Steve was still staring in awe at Tony, even as Nat pressed a glass of water into his hand and told him to drink or she was smashing the television.    
  
Steve chugged the water and immediately regretted it. The room swum around and he felt like throwing up. He decided to concentrate on Tony's voice instead.    
  
"The Avengers- me. I messed up. I won't do it again. When you- when you can do the things that we do, sometimes it gets to your head. I wanted to save the world before it needed saving. Because, while we do save the world," there's a sad pause, bordering on awkward. Tony twitched on stage and Steve ached for him.    
  
He's also in a slight state of shock. He didn't expect- Stark Relief had already begun work on Sokovia immediately after the events of Ultron but Tony had never made such a personal statement like this. It made him wonder- what else had changed about him?   
  
He expected Tony to be sad and broken and pathetic and drunk, but he was- he was better than Steve was. He was defying everything.    
  
Tony took another deep breath and started again, "We're always only there to mop up the mess. But- well, that didn't work out. And to quote a friend, when you can do the things that we do, the bad things that happen right now? They happen because of you."   
  
Steve wondered which friend he was quoting and realised it was probably the person he brought to the fight, the kid with heart and potential, the kid that reminded him of himself. He wondered if Tony was still talking to him, if he was getting out and socialising and having friends. He could use some friends outside of the Avengers. He could use some friends that weren't Steve.    
  
"Which is why I'm setting up a relief team for Sokovia. Finding homes, jobs, giving aid to those who lost it because of what I did," oh, Tony was saying what he did, what had changed, what had changed when Steve was away and bitter and sad.    
  
"We all need to be held accountable, if not we're no better than the bad guys," Steve recognised that line. Tony had told it to him, what must have been centuries ago- Tony had said and he didn't listen and so he nearly killed Tony and destroyed an airport in the process. It made him wonder what made someone a bad guy. When was he being bad and when was he being good? He had to be bad to save Bucky but saving Bucky was inherently good.    
  
When was a villain not a villain? What could possibly incite someone to believe that a something obviously terrible was good?   
  
"I myself will be flying down to the communities around Sokovia to see what we should address first. And to the rest of you watching," Tony straightened his shoulders. His fingers stopped moving. He looked like his old self again, but calmer. He had allowed himself to turn towards failure and so had become more self-assured as a result. "We're entering new territory. Uncharted, unknown, uncertain. And we always fear what we don't know."   
  
Wanda looked at Tony with a new light in her eyes. She had seemed more forlorn lately, and gotten calls from someone long-distance. Steve thought he knew who she was missing, and found it strange that she would be the first to establish such a relationship with him. He supposed it was fitting. The girl with no home and another who had no concept of it.    
  
"Some of you may have abilities. Others may not. So those of you who have them- protect those without. We've lost enough. We don't need to lose more," and here Tony stopped. He looked out at the world at his feet, hanging on his words. "That will be all."   
  
The room broke into chaos, as did the one in Wakanda. People shouted questions left and right and Tony didn't answer, merely stalked off the stage.   
  
Steve found he had no words for what Tony had become while he was away. Bucky shook his head and placed a hand on Steve's shoulder. Falcon snorted, Natasha walked away from the room without a word. Because Tony didn't just change- he, he evolved.    
  
Steve found an answer to his question. A monster was not a monster when you loved it. A monster didn't do monstrous things when it was loved.    
  


* * *

  
  
Steve remembered a time when he'd come across Tony, sitting down at a chair and holding a bottle of whiskey. "Do you remember?" He'd asked. "When I said everything special about you came out of a bottle."   
  
It had been mere days after the battle of New York- after Tony had nearly died for the world. It haunted Steve, it haunted him because he'd told Tony he'd never be one to sacrifice himself and he had, without a second thought. So he'd sat down immediately and said, "yes?"   
  
Tony looked at him, gauging his options, weighing his words. "I'm sorry I said that. But it wasn't the first time I'd said it."   
  
Steve raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"   
  
"It was my tenth birthday. I was telling Howard it was my birthday," Tony said, sounding inexplicably sad and remote. "And he'd said, what did it matter?"   
  
"I told him because I was born on this day," Tony takes a sip. "And people would celebrate it when I changed the world. And you know what he told me?"   
  
Steve was almost afraid to know. "What?"   
  
"He said it still didn't matter, he said I'd never be anything as great as Captain America, hero to the common man. So I went back to my room, I took down the poster of you my dad gave me, and I told it that everything special about it came out of a bottle. And I swore I would be great one day."   
  
Steve had felt his heart break. He had known Howard, but back then he'd been a fondue loving, playful young man who'd seen magic in the world and enjoyed tangling his fingers in it. He hadn't known that losing him would break him so. "I'm sorry too," he replied. "For saying you won't lay down the wire. You're- you're a hero, Tony. I'd say you've achieved your vow."   
  
Tony had looked up at him. "My parents are dead now. What does it matter? He went to his grave thinking I'd be nothing," and he stood up and stalked off. "And my mother died slowly believing his words."   
  


* * *

  
  
"Steve," Natasha knocked on his door. It had been three months since the fight and everything had fallen to pieces. "Steve, I want to talk to you about something."   
  
He looked up from his sketchbook, from where he'd been drawing several trees. He liked trees. It distracted from...yeah. Trees.    
  
"What is it?" He asked. He thought he'd been getting better. He thought he'd been coming to terms with the fact that- that he messed up, that he should've just told Tony, damnit.    
  
Natasha sat down gingerly on the edge of his bed and that's when Steve knew that something was wrong. "I was thinking of...going home."   
  
"No," Steve said immediately, then sighed. "Would Tony-"   
  
"He is a good man, Steve," Natasha said, sounding annoyed. "God- we've said that exact phrase over a million times now. How many more times must we say that for you to get it? I will go back, and he will welcome me because we're friends, because he's probably hurting and lonely now that everyone's gone. And even if he doesn't welcome me- which I wouldn't put it past him, I did betray him, then I will apologise, and get on the next plane to Clint's farm. I don't want to stay here. But I would like to go with your blessing."   
  
Steve made a go gesture. It was not intended as a blessing. Natasha sighed and stood up. "When will you see?" She asked sadly. "When will you understand?"   
  
"I understand perfectly," he seethed. "Tony tried to kill Bucky and I. And the letter and that phone was shoved down my throat. I couldn't care less for him now."   
  
"You're being ridiculous," she crossed her arms. "I cannot believe that Tony is actually being better about this than you. You've seen him on the news. He's making a difference. He's being better. He's changed, Steve."   
  
He stood up so fast that the table shook and the sketchbook thumped to the ground. She held her ground, even as she turned around and walked out of the door. Steve watched her go and wondered if this was what Tony felt like.    
  


* * *

  
  
Bucky raised his head and knocked on the door. It was a good day today. He felt like himself, and thus he had to make the most of it. He so rarely felt like himself nowadays. Most of the time it was the bad days that got him, and Steve- he helped, but he didn't know.    
  
Steve pulled the door open and looked like shit. Weeks of not following his diet had led to some muscle atrophy- the super soldier serum helped but biology was not to be denied. There were bags under his eyes, his hands shook ever so slightly and his hair was a terrific mess. If Bucky concentrated, he could smell alcohol on him- a sign of how far he was gone, because he knew alcohol didn't do squat.    
  
Bucky sighed as he walked into the door, shying away from Steve's stunned eyes.    
  
He turned to look at Steve and a memory came back to him, a memory of a smaller Steve not taking his medications and he, standing over him, threatening to force feed it to him.   
  
He tried to channel that Bucky. It seemed like  he was simultaneously here and far away.    
  
"You're a mess," he told Steve firmly. "You're going to go shower now."   
  
Steve stared at him in surprise. It'd been a month since Natasha had left, and it had been a downward spiral ever since. He crossed his arms and tried to look intimidating. "Now."   
  
Steve blinked. Then he turned and trudged into the bathroom and he heard the sound of the shower turning on. Bucky sighed heavily and began to clean up his room, emptying the trash and sweeping pencil shavings off the desk into the bin.    
  
Once Steve had changed and dressed and brushed his teeth, Bucky sat him down and forced him to drink water, eat a little bit of chicken soup- he'd made it from a memory of a time long ago when Steve caught pneumonia. Steve had started a bit when he'd tasted it, and he realised that he must've remembered it.    
  
When everything had been done, Bucky sat down next him and said softly, "I am not your Bucky."   
  
Steve looked up sharply. His tongue held all the retorts in the world, and Bucky had heard them all and was sick of it.    
  
"I am not who he was, and I think you know that. I can never be that man again," Bucky twiddled his fingers. "And I am not Hydra's pet. Today is a good day- so you listen."   
  
Steve shifted closer to him. "You- I can be my own person. I want to be my own person, but there are things I have done that I cannot erase. People I've killed," Bucky shushed him when he tried to interrupt. "I cannot change that I did it, Steve. All the denial in the world can't change fact. But- but maybe with your help, I can start making up for it. I can try to be good. But you need to help me."   
  
Steve found the first words he'd said in almost a month. "What do you need?"   
  
Bucky looked up at him, part sad, part hopeful. "I need you to stop denying everything you've done wrong in your quest to help me. It was a noble act and you saved me, you did. But I think we all did things we weren't proud of because of- of whatever it was that happened. And I think you know it too. There are things we have to fix."   
  
"We can start with Tony," Steve whispered.    
  
"Yes. We can start with Tony," Bucky echoed.    
  


* * *

  
  
The final preparations for their move back to America was in order. They had three back up plans, several armed undercover officers and a private jet to take them home. Sam was buzzing about, getting Wanda all riled up for going home, and she laughed and made red sparks appear like fireworks.    
  
They quieted when Steve entered the room. Wanda shuffled her feet, and Sam looked him in the eye to make sure he felt his disappointment. Steve coughed and looked away.    
  
And so began his long list of apologies to make. He weighed how to start it, and eventually decided on telling the truth. "I've been a dick," he announced. Wanda looked up quickly. "I've been an asshole and I'm sorry. I...lost my way."   
  
Wanda raised an eyebrow at him and snorted. "No kidding."   
  
Steve flinched. "I'm so sorry I let you down."   
  
Sam walked slowly over to him and clapped his back. "We're your team, Steve. We're always here for each other."   
  
Steve looked up at him, almost hopeful. Wanda sighed and walked over to them too. "Pull a stunt like that again and I swear I will smack you."   
  
Steve broke into a small smile. "You'd have every right to."   
  


* * *

  
  
Touching down in America after five months of not being there was uneventful, to say the least. Clint was waiting for them at their unorthodox landing space- the army would be there any second.    
  
He'd tackled Wanda in a hug, punched Steve in the face, and welcomed Bucky and Sam with a nod. Steve nursed his sore nose all the way to Clint's farm, which was fast becoming Clint Barton's Farm for Rogue Superheroes.    
  
It was there that Steve saw Tony get hit right in the chest with a laser live on television. To say his heart stopped was an understatement. Even after all these years, all this time of admiring Tony from afar and all those months hating and denying him, he could not let Tony go.    
  
He hoped Tony couldn't let him go either.    
  


* * *

  
  
"He's there," Bucky pointed at Tony- god, god it was Tony it was Tony, he looked well rested and happy and peaceful and kind and he looked good and wonderful and handsome and Steve ached and burst and felt like he was going to die from nerves and was he speaking too fast?   
  
Bucky's hand on his shoulder confirmed that question. "Calm down, Steve. There's at least six ready for extraction agents around. And they're from Wakanda- which means they're really fucking good and really fucking scary. You'll be fine. Now go talk to him."   
  
"I can't do this," Steve wheezed.    
  
"You can and you will. Now go!" He gave Steve a little push and Steve stumbled forward until he reached the bench. He sat down gingerly.    
  
Tony didn't look over at him, so he took a deep breath and said, "hello, Tony."   
  
Tony's whole boy stiffened, and then relaxed. "Hello Steve," and then there was silence. Steve thought this was going okay, Tony hadn't immediately tried to kill him.    
  
"I'm sorry," he whispered.    
  
"What?"  
  
 Steve channelled all his inner strength. "You told me to only come back when I was ready to admit my mistakes. Well I am. I'm sorry, Tony- I should've told you about your parents long ago, but I didn't want to face up to fact that Bucky might have had a hand in it. And you're right- that letter was bullshit."  
  
 "It's not your fault," Tony waited a while before replying. "Well- it's not entirely your fault. I overreacted. Justifiably, but still. I would've killed Bucky and I'm glad you stopped me."   
  
"The past six months- not some of my finest moments,” Steve made a painful sound in the back of his throat. It hurt talking, but he struggled through it. “But you've- you've managed to make the world better than ever. Tony- you’ve been up here being a hero- I saw the Hydra attack, while I was hiding from you because I was too ashamed I compromised my own personal morals about truth and honesty because it was Bucky. I don’t regret it, I still don’t and I would do it again but- I hurt you. And I am sorry."  
  
 “I am sorry I didn’t listen to you,” Tony mused. “Things could have been a whole lot easier if our communication skills didn’t suck so much.”  

There's a long pause, then Tony said softly, "how long are you planning on staying?"

  "Permanently," Steve choked out. "If that's alright."  

"Since when have you ever had to ask permission from me, Captain?" Tony turned to look at him seriously. "The world needs us, you know. The Avengers. One thing I've learnt? Our differences don't have to make us divided."

  "I know," Steve said, sounding so relieved. "I was hoping- systemically. I was thinking we'd start with lunch. Just you and me. At that Thai place you wanted to bring me."  

Tony placed his hand on the side of Steve's face, and when he didn't object, pulled him into a one sided, awkward hug.

  Steve tensed up, glanced down at Tony's arm around him and jerked backwards in shock.   

"Tony," he whispered, confused, broken, and Tony looked down at his arm.

   Steve felt hollow, because against his tan skin, there white lines on his arm, perfectly straight and slightly raised. Tony had- Tony had hurt himself because- because of him?

  "I wasn't in a good place, Steve," Tony said softly. "And neither were you."

  "Have you stopped?" Steve asked, his grip tightening.

  
 "I realised that wasn't who I wanted to be, so yes, I have," Tony pulled his sleeve back down over them.

  Steve felt like running, but then Bucky melted out of the shadows and placed his arm on his shoulder again.

"It's not your fault," Tony says at the same time Bucky does.  

Steve looked at him, weighed down with guilt. 

Tony looked at Bucky instead. Bucky met his gaze squarely.   

"I'm sorry I killed your parents," Bucky said sincerely.  

Tony stared hard at him. The words come as if he had rehearsed it many times in the mirror. "It wasn't you."  

Bucky shrugged his shoulders and then held out both hands to Tony. "But I did it. These two hands, no matter what you or Steve or anyone tries to tell me, killed things. The Winter Soldier is part of me, whether I like it or not. I will never be able to erase what I did but maybe- maybe I can start making amends."

  Tony tilted his head, and a small sad smile appeared on his face. "I know too much about making mistakes and fixing them," and he stood up, and took both of Bucky's hands. "I'm sorry I tried to kill you."  

"Likewise," Bucky nodded, and Tony actually cracked a small smile.  

Steve grabbed Tony's hand, and Bucky took the other, and Tony's simple forgiveness of what he'd done made Steve feel- it made him feel like the broken had left him. It made him feel like he'd finally found land after months at sea. He was home, he was here, he was free.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this :))
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for more nonsense and long live tony stark rants @starkmagnus


End file.
